


Rain

by mistr3ssquickly



Series: Redemption [3]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistr3ssquickly/pseuds/mistr3ssquickly
Summary: Han and Luke get caught in the rain.





	Rain

Just once -- _once_ \-- Han would like to have an assignment with Luke that _doesn't_ involve putting one or both of them in mortal peril.

This is not that mission.

Which means they're getting shot at within twenty minutes of Han stepping off the _Falcon_ and Luke jumping down out of his X-wing, the two of them splitting up under ten minutes after that to give the Imperial sympathizers looking to kill them two moving targets to aim for instead of one, and where Han isn't one to like following orders, he's grudgingly grateful that he kept his mouth shut during the briefing back in the relative safety of their latest base of operations and therefore knows where the emergency rendezvous point is, gets himself there with little more than a few surface burns where enemy fire got too close for comfort and a parade of scrapes and bruises all singing for his attention, courtesy a hand-to-hand scuffle he won against the last Imp on his trail.

He even gets to the rendezvous point before the heavens open and start dousing the land in an enthusiastic downpour, and that's luck he'll drink to any day. 

He's not stupid, though, isn't thinking (too much) about that drink as he hunkers down in the front corner of the ramshackle hut serving as their assigned hideout and pulls his blaster from its holster, checking that it's still set to lethal. Catches himself trying without success not two minutes later not to count the minutes passing with Luke nowhere in sight, worried conjecture rising in him like a relentless tide that something has happened to the younger man. Luke's smarter than he looks and has all the animal self-preservation instincts of someone who survived into adulthood in the Outlands of Tatooine, has on top of that the rabid conviction of the religious that his Force god will save him like he thinks it did in the _Death Star_ run, and where Han doesn't believe that any more than he believes the tall tales and ghost stories he loved as a child, he's seen the power of belief in others before, trusts that it won't hurt Luke's chances of survival, even if it doesn't do anything to increase them.

All the same, it's a heady mix of relief and other emotions he hasn't got time to name amidst the fight-or-flight rush of adrenaline surging through him when he hears footsteps, the obvious lack of stealth and Luke's quiet _Han, it's me_ the only thing that keeps his index finger stilled on the trigger, tension bleeding out into a weariness that draws the pain from all his superficial injuries up to the fore of his attention, the tiredness of it all sinking deep in his bones as he sighs and slumps against the wall at his side.

“Kriff, kid, you _tryin'a_ get shot or something?” he complains, holstering his blaster, but leaving it on lethal, just in case. 

Luke shakes his head. He looks awful, pale and wet, not soaked through but wet enough that he _can't_ be comfortable, a bruise on his cheekbone barely visible in the dim light of their hideout, his coveralls dirty, speaking to struggle. “I trust you,” he says, simply, and Han snorts in answer and looks away because the way Luke makes him feel sometimes is more than he can handle.

“You lose your escort, or give 'em a permanent leave of duty?” he says instead, looking out at the rain. 

“They're all dead,” Luke says, cold and factual like he gets around death, even after all he's seen -- and caused -- over their months fighting side-by-side. “Yours?”

“Same. Still should probably lay low for a bit. Just in case you were followed.”

“I don't think I was,” Luke says, “but yeah.”

“Not the whole night, of course,” Han says hedging his bets in his favor, because sometimes Luke's martyr complex makes life unnecessarily unpleasant for the both of them. “Head into town once we're in the clear, see about accommodations for the evening. And a _drink._ Need one, after this nonsense. And there's no sense stayin’ in this hut if we don't have any shadows to worry about.”

Luke makes a soft sound of agreement at the back of his voice and steps forward, his back to Han and the toes of his boots just barely touching the threshold of their hideout, his eyes tight in a squint as he peers out into the downpour like he thinks he'll be able to see a damn thing through it. He won't, but Han leaves him to try, if that's what makes him feel better, makes him feel safer. He stands there, right at the doorway, for what feels like a long time, silently watching the hypnotic shift in the curtain of rain stretching out before him, reaching out with his right hand just as Han’s thinking to tell him to give up on his vigil and relax, the cuff of his sleeve pulling tight around his forearm as he sticks his hand out into the rain, water quick to trace rivulets down his arm, soaking his clothes. He holds his hand perfectly still, out in the downpour, studying the water pooling in his palm with a quiet sort of intensity, even when his sleeve’s collected enough water to start dripping from the elbow. 

“I never imagined anything like this, back home,” he says, when he notices Han watching him, his tone soft but audible over the rain drumming on the roof. “We have seasonal rains, but -- _nothing_ like this.”

His expression is warm, thoughtful, the wonder he has as he experiences the galaxy still catching Han by surprise whenever he’s got a front row seat to witness it, Luke’s comfort in letting Han see him enjoying the meager scraps of happiness fate sees fit to toss him a gift Han tucks close to his heart. He stays quiet, content to watch Luke feel the rain, smiling despite himself when a droplet of water clinging to the doorway grows too heavy and falls, catching Luke in the eye, making him step back and blink, startled, and the way Luke laughs as he reaches up to wipe the water from his eyes with his rain-wet hand is like music, blending beautifully with the sound of the rain.

They stay hidden in their drafty little shack for the better part of an hour, waiting for the rain to let up or more Imps to sniff them out, but neither happens before Han’s stomach starts to growl and Luke starts to pace, his fascination with the rain holding his interest only so long, neither of them any good at sitting around with nothing to do. They give up on waiting out the storm in favor of seeking civilization, which has both of them well on their way to being soaked through by the time they’ve gotten into the nearest town and found a hole-in-the-wall diner that doesn’t look like a good place to get shot at or poisoned by ill-prepared food, and by the time they’ve finished eating and walked the three blocks between the diner and a decent-looking inn, they’re both thoroughly soaked, Luke pushing his hair away from his face like he’s still not quite sure how to deal with it when it’s water-logged, Han’s feet squishing water between his toes in his boots, his socks rubbing raw spots on his ankles. Their room’s got an exposed radiator in the corner, at least, which catches Luke’s attention straight away, his curiosity distracting him somewhat from walking bowlegged (his attempt to keep his trousers from rubbing against themselves, Han would guess), his fascination cute in his usual dorky sort of way.

“You had to’ve had a heater of some kind back home on Tatooine, didn’t you?” Han says, tugging off his boots and setting them down next to the radiator, pulling his blaster from its holster before arranging his gunbelt on the floor next to his boots. His socks are sodden to the point of dripping, too wet to dry even if he leaves them on the radiator overnight, so he peels them off to take into the ‘fresher to wring out.

Luke shakes his head. “Not one like that,” he says. “We had a subterranian compound, so the temperature didn’t change too drastically between day and night. Not inside, anyway.”

“Right. Outlands.” Han finishes wringing out his socks and drapes them over the radiator before shrugging out of his vest. “You plannin’ to stand around in your wet clothes all night, or ...?”

Luke looks down at his soaked coveralls and boots like he’d forgotten he was wearing them. “Is there room for everything on that?”

“Sure. We’ll make it work,” Han says.

His optimism is perhaps a bit off-center, the task of getting his trousers and shirt and vest to share space with Luke’s coveralls and undershirt on a radiator just barely large enough to heat their modest room somewhat more difficult than he’d initially anticipated, but they _do_ manage, the radiator purring away under the wet weight of their clothes while they crowd each other in the ‘fresher, Luke's sigh of contentment as he tips his head back, letting the warm water flow over his face, making Han smile. 

“Nothin’ like _this_ back home, I'd bet,” he says when Luke catches him staring again, probably looking a fool with the lopsided grin he can feel persisting even as he speaks.

“No, there was. Tatooine’s known for its water-showers, of course,” Luke answers, shooting for deadpan and missing by a margin, but Han laughs anyway, humor swelling in his chest as he does, just as warm as the water flowing around him. 

He wraps a towel around his waist once he's cleaned as much of the grit and gross as he's going to manage off of his skin, the cheap material not the most comfortable thing he's ever felt, but it's better than wandering around fully nude in the now-chill air of the room. He checks the clothes on the radiator, unsurprised to find them all damp, still, actively wet in some places, turns them over in attempt to get them to dry faster. His shirt’ll be dry enough not to chafe if they have to leave in a hurry, but not his vest or trousers, and his socks and boots --

“Are they drying okay?” Luke wants to know, coming out of the 'fresher, his gait uncoordinated as he tries to walk and towel his hair at the same time, the rest of him streaked still with water, like he's given his skin only a cursory drying. Not quite used to water-showers still, and never much one to be shy about nudity, the critical eye he's turned on the clothes draped over the radiator easing up as Han takes the towel from him and sets about drying him properly, the cheap terrycloth warming the sallow tone of Luke's skin pink as he works. 

“Need to get you some sun,” he says when Luke takes the towel from him to finish what Han started. “Startin’ to look like a shaved womp rat, you're so pale.”

Luke looks down the length of his own body, then at Han, direct as ever, clearly comparing the two of them. “I'm not _that_ pale,” he decides after a second.

“Ain't much’a the twin suns left on you, either, though,” Han counters. 

“I don't mind,” Luke says, going back to toweling himself off, his skin gone rough with gooseflesh. “I've wanted to leave Tatooine ever since I was little and started learning about other worlds. Even just the ones in the Outer Rim.”

“Not everything in the Rim's bad,” Han says, watching Luke dry himself; always a nice view. “Hell, not all of _Tatooine's_ bad. You get up towards its poles, it's a lot less harsh than where you're from. Nothin’ tropical or anything, ain't a paradise by anyone’s definition, but less of a hell-hole that the Wastes and Outlands.”

Luke shrugs. “If you say so,” he says. “I never really traveled more than a few hours away from where I was raised. And I don't think I'll ever go back, so --”

He trails off, still uncomfortable talking about his homeworld for more than a minute or two, and when he shivers, his nose starting to go a little pink and everything, Han takes pity on him, taking his towel from him and ordering him to get into the bed at the far end of the room, joining him under the covers once he's hung up their towels to dry. The sheets are cheap and scratchy, no better than the ones in his bunk aboard the _Falcon,_ but Luke's body heat mingles quick enough with his own, the relative spaciousness of the bed elevating it above his bunk even before he's fully settled in at Luke's side, the mattress beneath them just the right side of squashy, the blanket he pulls up over them heavy and warm.

“Should take you to Corellia sometime,” he says, flexing his feet under the covers, easing some of the tension he earned as punishment for walking around in wet boots. “If there's any of her left, anyway. Imps did a real number on her, from what I hear.” He stretches his legs fully, only half-covering his mouth with his hand as he yawns. “Can't imagine they could'a done much to the ocean, though. You'd like it. Water as far as you can see, waves comin’ up twice Chewie's height, sometimes taller.”

“All saltwater, too, right?” Luke says. 

“Yeah,” Han says, surprised. “You been readin’ up on it or something?”

“Mm-hm. I was curious about it, after meeting you, and Wedge. He talks about it more than you do.”

Han snorts. “Man loves his homeworld more’n most,” he says. 

“I don't think that's a bad thing.”

“Nah, nothin’ wrong with it,” Han says, “especially if it's what keeps him comin’ back for more. That's good for the rebellion, at least.”

Luke rolls onto his side and leans on his elbow, his cheek propped up against his fist. “What about you?” he says.

“What about me.”

“What keeps you coming back?” Luke says. “Staying with it. With us.”

 _You, and Leia_ is the truth, but Han manages to keep it under his tongue, covering the truth with a low chuckle. “I'm like you, kid,” he says. “Ain't got anywhere better to be or I'd be there. Nothin’ more’n that.”

“I believe in what the Rebellion is doing,” Luke says, his face scrunched up like he's working on being _offended_ or something. “The Empire was founded on lies and is too big for itself. The fact that the Rebellion’s gotten the support it has, even with all the bad things the Empire could do to punish Rebel supporters is proof that --”

“Y’know, it sounds a lot more convincing when it's Leia sayin’ all that,” Han interrupts.

Luke colors up. “Yeah, I know. But she's right. About the Empire.”

“Sure, no argument from me there. But you give any'a her fancy commanders and admirals and generals half a chance to wield that sort of power, command forces of that scale, and they'll go exactly the same route.”

Luke gives him a dubious look. “Maybe.”

“Maybe nothin’,” Han says. “That's just how power works. If this political movement fails, another'll take its place, and whichever one succeeds’ll be the next big bad some scrappy little group has to take down. Over and over and over. No stoppin’ it.”

Luke rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, its imperfections thrown into sharp relief by the light neither of them bothered to switch off before getting into bed. “Well, that's where the Jedi come in,” he says. “Using our gift to keep balance across the universe, to keep any one power from rising above the others.”

“Did a great job'a that when they were around, didn't they,” Han deadpans.

“For a few thousand years, they did,” Luke says on a sigh. “Until the Emperor had them all killed.”

Han turns an incredulous look to Luke, a stale chuckle forcing its way up his throat. “You _can't_ be that naive,” he says when Luke frowns at him and says _what._ “Really. You _actually_ believe that. Wow. How old are you, kid?”

“What's that got to do with --”

“Can't be all _that_ much younger'n me,” Han interrupts. “What are you, eighteen, nineteen standard years?”

“Twenty, almost twenty-one,” Luke says. “Why?”

“Ahh, see, I'm old enough to remember when the Emperor had all the Jedi killed,” Han says. “Whole campaign came through Corellia, celebrating the end’a the old ways, the birth of a new era. If you're twenty ... yeah, you would'a been too little to remember it. Explains a lot.”

“Maybe it was different where you're from than where I grew up,” Luke says, his voice hard with a defensive edge, but there's curiosity there, too, his brow furrowed with it. “I can't believe it was cause for _celebration.”_

“Yeah, well, it brought a lot'a good with it, at first,” Han tells him. “Ended the war, for one, gave regular folks a shot at serving in the galactic forces, not just our own homegrown armies. Which weren't even safe to have out in the open or recognized, 'cause that's how you'd get the attention of the bigger powers struggling for dominance.” He shrugs. “Ma was happy to hear about it. Worried about havin’ me growing up a prime target for enlistment of the involuntary variety. Healthy human male with a short fuse and a steady hand for shooting, I would’a been high on a _few_ lists, at least.”

Luke's staring at him, his usual fascination with Han's stories doubled, at least. “How old were you?” he wants to know. 

“Nine when the coup first went down, ten by the time the war officially ended,” Han says. “I ain't sayin’ the Empire's good or anything -- they ain't -- I'm just sayin’ the Jedi weren't doing much to keep the peace, is all. Not on Coruscant where they'd set themselves up as a second government of sorts, definitely not out on other worlds where we were all just tryin’a make a living.”

Luke shakes his head. “That's not what I said they were supposed to do,” he says. “They were tasked with maintaining balance. Not letting one power rise above another, like the Empire's done. That's all.”

“Which is how you get an endless war tearin’ up whole planets and distracting local governments from takin’ care of the shit goin’ down at home,” Han says. “How d’you think the Hutts got themselves so deep embedded on your homeworld?”

Luke frowns. “They've always been --”

“-- in power, makin’ Tatooine even less pleasant than it already was?” Han says. “Sure, that's how it was 'til the fall of the Old Republic, which is how they managed to survive underground after the Empire came through, chasin’ off the worst of the criminal underbelly. Had generations of war to build up their network unnoticed, ended up creating plenty'a work for smugglers as a result’a the notice they finally got. Got the spice epidemic to spread like wildfire, too, bringin’ with it all the bad shit you get with widespread drug addiction -- my point bein’ that the galaxy's always been a hot mess, always gonna _be_ a hot mess, and the Jedi didn't do a damn thing to help or harm it along the way any more than any other group ever has or will.”

Luke's quiet, chewing his lower lip as he thinks; a new thing for him, not voicing every thought that sparks his passions. “Is this why you drink so much?” he says, finally. 

“Is what --”

“-- because you're kind of depressing when you're sober.”

Han laughs, the wicked little smile he can see caught at the corner of Luke's mouth puncturing the bubble of temper he'd felt rising up his throat just seconds before. He leans down and kisses that smile, taking it slow and easy, enjoying the feel of Luke kissing him back.

“My philosophical ramblings are _much_ worse when I'm drunk, kid,” he says. “Should of be grateful I'm not.”

“I am,” Luke says. “Grateful. Thank you for telling me all this. It's good to keep in mind.”

Han snorts and kisses him again. “Happy to share, I guess,” he says. “Anytime.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Some thoughts :_  
I had this great scene in my head where Han and Luke would take a nice hot shower together after getting caught in the rain (it was piña coladas [last time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14471985)) and be all sexy and stuff, and this story would be little more than porn ... and instead we got Han’s (and therefore my) philosophies on imperialism and the impact of foreign involvement in local affairs and the myopic, immature notion that balance is always good, and that good will always (or even ever) triumph. 

I love that _Star Wars_ has room for this sort of rumination. It's arguably what's hooked me so hard into this fandom and kept me here and focused like it has. ~~Well, that and Mark Hamill, please send help.~~

I hope you like this little piece, and that you'll leave me some love if you did. Curious to know what others’ thoughts are on these matters.


End file.
